


tangled together in the dark

by annella



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27574088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annella/pseuds/annella
Summary: Five times Rufus kissed Tseng.... and one time Tseng kissed him first.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 17
Kudos: 89





	tangled together in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to both Anna and Blue for reading over this for me when I was struggling with it. <3

  1. Possibly a mistake




Tseng was working late, again. Rufus quietly observed him from the door of his study, watching him make his way through a pile of reports. This had become a depressingly regular occurrence of late. On top of his bodyguard duties, Tseng had been promoted to second in command of the Turks, and the amount of paperwork he now had to deal with was ridiculous.

It meant less time spent together in the evenings, which Rufus found surprisingly saddening. He’d become used to Tseng’s presence in his life, from their rocky beginning to the strong friendship and trust that had developed over the past year. He looked around the small study Tseng had commandeered, noticing all the little personal touches the Turk had added. The small sound system in the corner, a stack of classical CDs sitting next to it. A few pieces of modern art hanging on the walls, the style unique and compelling. A ragged plant near the window with a small spray bottle next to it. Tseng had rescued it, and it looked healthier by the day. The bookcase stuffed with battered paperback thrillers, hardcover history books, the odd poetry volume, and not a few well-thumbed slim novels with discreet covers which Tseng kept hidden behind more weighty tomes. 

Rufus had found them fairly quickly, read them, and put them back with a smile. 

It was nearing midnight, and Tseng looked weary beyond measure. He’d thrown his suit jacket over the chair in the corner and rolled his shirt sleeves up, allowing Rufus to admire his muscular forearms. He was still wearing his gloves, and Rufus wanted to pull them off with his teeth and suck Tseng’s fingers into his mouth. His hair was loosely tied back, flyaway strands framing his face and softening his usually stern demeanour.

Tseng had so far resisted Rufus’ attempts at seduction, effecting an expression of mild confusion whenever Rufus made an inappropriate comment or gave him a flirtatious compliment. But he was quite sure Tseng was interested; he’d seen the heated look in his eyes whenever Rufus wandered around the penthouse suite with his silk robe open to show off his upper body.

Rufus took a deep breath and approached Tseng, his robe already hanging halfway off his shoulders and his thin pyjama pants loose around his hips. Tseng glanced at him, eyes widening slightly, before he quickly turned back to his report.

“Sir, I’m busy,” he said as Rufus trailed his fingers through his hair, tugging the ends slightly.

“Hmm.” Rufus considered his bodyguard, the stiffness in his shoulders as he stared intently at the document in front of him. He let his hands rest on Tseng’s shoulders, frowning when Tseng instantly tensed up.

“Sir—”

“Let me,” Rufus coaxed, gently gripping him through his shirt before digging his thumbs into the muscles running down Tseng’s neck and along his shoulders. “You’ve been working so hard lately, you’re tense.” He could feel the knots there, the tension Tseng was carrying, and he pressed against the source of pain, massaging it away. Tseng let out a soft moan, his head falling forward, and Rufus couldn’t help but slide his thumbs up his neck to his scalp, tugging the hair tie free.

He’d been wanting to touch Tseng’s hair for _years_ , wanting to know what that gorgeous mass of smooth black hair would feel like against his fingers. It was just as silky as he had hoped, strands sliding through his fingers like water. Tseng hadn’t had it cut for years, since he was assigned to Rufus’ detail, and Rufus had delighted in watching it grow over time.

There was a clatter as Tseng dropped his pen, and it rolled off the desk, small spots of ink decorating its path to the floor. Rufus continued his ministrations, firmly stroking over Tseng’s head, massaging his scalp and enjoying the soft, silky slide of hair through his fingers. He could hear Tseng’s breathing, loud in the hushed quiet of the study, and he heard the smallest hitch when he ran his fingers through Tseng’s hair all the way down to the ends.

“Is that good?” Rufus said softly, and Tseng nodded. Rufus couldn’t help it; he tilted Tseng’s head back, leaned down, and brushed his lips across Tseng’s.

Just a touch, the lightest of kisses. Tseng’s mouth was warm, his lips soft, and Rufus caught the end of a sharp intake of breath before he pulled away. 

Tseng sat bolt upright, his posture stiff, his body frozen. Rufus frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I misunderstood.”

“No.” Tseng shook his head. “No, it’s just—I have to go.” Rufus stood back and watched as Tseng stood up and hurriedly shoved the papers he had been working on into a messy pile. 

“Wait!” Rufus blurted out, and Tseng stopped in the doorway.

“It’s not you,” Tseng said in a low murmur, looking more frazzled than Rufus had ever seen him. “I just need some time.” Then he was gone, the door slamming closed behind him.

“Idiot,” Rufus cursed himself, falling into Tseng’s recently-vacated chair and sighing morosely. This was going to be even harder than he thought.

  
  


  1. Does this one count?




It was a company party, one which Tseng and his fellow Turks were attending as guests, not guards, and Rufus smiled to see Tseng with a glass of wine in his hand. He’d left his work gloves off, but was still dressed in a sharp black suit, albeit one that looked a little more sleek and finely tailored than his usual Turks uniform. Rufus wondered if Tseng ever wore casual clothes; the most relaxed he’d seen his bodyguard was when he took his suit jacket off in the evenings and loosened his tie. His hands were bare so rarely that the sight of his long, slender fingers delicately holding the stem of a wine glass sent shivers down Rufus’ spine. He was already slightly tipsy, about to cross the line into pleasantly drunk, and his mind automatically wandered into thinking about Tseng. 

The first time he’d ever seen Tseng had been at a party like this. Rufus had been barely sixteen, only just old enough to be allowed a glass of champagne—as if he hadn’t been drinking his way through his father’s wine cellar since he picked the lock aged twelve—and he was doing his best to look suave and worldly. He’d spotted a young man on the other side of the room, about his own age, with black hair brushing his shoulders and an intense, dark look in his eyes. 

He’d picked the boy as being a Turk instantly. They all had that look about them—dangerous, competent, professional—even the new recruits. Rufus was attempting to look like he belonged in this brightly-lit ballroom, with jazz musicians set up in the corner and glasses overflowing with champagne, but he felt ill at ease, awkward as he made small talk with his father’s colleagues, and he almost went over to talk to the boy who looked like he might have more in common with Rufus than anyone else here. 

In the end, he never got the chance, but alone in his bed that night, he jerked off to the thought of the dark-haired boy, having him in his bed, limbs and mouths tangled together in the dark.

Some things never changed. Rufus wondered, again, what Tseng’s hands would feel like on him—touching him, holding him, caressing him—and he took a gulp of his drink. Tseng was talking with Reno and Elena, his back to Rufus, and Rufus took a moment to admire the way the lines of Tseng’s jacket clung to his slender waist before flaring out slightly over his hips and ass. 

Rufus had _definitely_ noticed Tseng’s ass before. It was hard not to, with the slim fitting trousers he wore, perfectly tailored to his form, and that damnable trim waist which Rufus just wanted to wrap his hands around. He imagined cupping Tseng’s ass, feeling the round curves and supple muscle, and had to once again bury his face in his champagne glass.

When he glanced up again, Tseng was looking at him, an expression of curiosity on his face, his head cocked to the side. His hair was tied back in a neat ponytail this evening, shiny and black and just begging for Rufus to tug playfully on it. 

Rufus raised his glass in Tseng’s direction and took another sip, keeping eye contact with him from across the room. He watched as Tseng tossed the rest of his wine back, his gaze firmly fixed on Rufus, and put the empty vessel down on a passing waiter’s tray without even looking. 

Reno gave him a slight shove, and Tseng turned to scowl at him before striding over to Rufus’ side, picking up a fresh glass of wine on the way.

“Good party,” he said, his voice a low rumble as he raised his glass to his lips and took a long, slow sip. Rufus watched him swallow, watched the tip of a tongue dart out to lick red droplets of wine off soft lips, and took a deep breath.

“It’s alright, I suppose. Some aspects are more interesting than others.” He watched a slight flush rise in Tseng’s face, and had another drink of his champagne. His attempt at an unruffled facade was ruined when some bubbles went up his nose, and he ended up snorting champagne everywhere as he coughed them out.

“Are you alright, Sir?” Tseng asked, patting him on the back.

“Fine,” Rufus gasped. “I might need some air, though.” He leaned slightly into Tseng’s touch, feeling light-headed. He was _definitely_ a bit drunk now. 

“This way,” Tseng murmured, keeping his hand low on Rufus’ back as he steered him through the crowds towards the exit to the roof. 

It was freezing outside, an icy wind blowing, and Rufus pulled back from the open door with a frown. He didn’t have quite enough alcohol in his bloodstream to brave that wind, and Tseng seemed to agree, guiding him away from the door and towards the stairwell instead.

No one ever used the maintenance stairwell in the Shinra building—why would they, when there were banks of well-maintained elevators?—and it was pleasantly cool in contrast to the overly heated ballroom. Rufus leaned against the metal railing, peering down the endless stairs towards the bottom of the building, swaying a little. Tseng put his hand against the small of his back again, his presence steadying, and Rufus leaned back against him, enjoying the warmth of Tseng’s hand through his coat.

“I hate these parties,” Rufus muttered, turning to face Tseng. “I don’t care about anyone here, and they don’t care about me. Even my father just trots me out to look good.” He couldn’t imagine a worse way to spend an evening—making small talk, drinking inferior champagne, and just waiting until he’d been there long enough to make an escape. He was always a wreck the next day, exhausted from spending so much of his energy pretending to be a social butterfly.

Tseng chuckled, a sound Rufus heard so rarely that he almost started in surprise. “I admit, I’m not overly fond of them either. Keeping Reno from making a fool of himself is a full time job, and I’d much rather be at home with a book than making small talk with colleagues.”

On impulse, Rufus reached up and placed the backs of his fingers against Tseng’s face. His bodyguard's cheeks were flushed red from the wine, and he leaned slightly into Rufus’ hand, cool fingers against warm skin. Ever since the brief kiss a few weeks ago, Rufus had backed off and given Tseng what he had asked for: time. Tseng hadn’t said no; he’d said _not yet_. Perhaps now was a good time to push things a little. His nerves bolstered by the champagne, Rufus took a deep breath.

“Next time, let’s leave early and just spend it together.”

Tseng stared at him, those dark eyes intense, a faint smile on his face. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice hushed.

“Tseng,” Rufus murmured, and when he moved closer and softly, gently, pressed his mouth against Tseng’s, neither of them pulled away for quite some time. Tseng’s lips tasted of rich, dark wine, and Rufus cupped the back of his neck to pull him a little closer, his fingers lightly stroking warm skin under the fall of Tseng’s hair. The kiss was just a gentle press of lips together, a brief touch of the tip of a tongue, but it was enough to make Rufus' body thrum with desire. He could smell Tseng’s cologne, a subtle scent, reminding Rufus of snowy peaks and dark green trees, and he shivered.

Rufus’ mouth was tingling by the time they both stepped back, and he ran his thumb over Tseng’s lower lip. Tseng’s eyes were dark, his chest rising and falling as he breathed deeply, and Rufus could not for the life of him interpret his gaze.

“We should get back,” Tseng said quietly, and gently took hold of Rufus’ hand. 

His bare skin against Rufus’ fingers was just as tantalising as Rufus had hoped, and he raised Tseng’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. He definitely heard a sharp intake of breath from Tseng, and they headed back to the party.

  
  


  1. I think we're getting somewhere




Rufus never had a friend before; had never felt like he needed much in the way of company. When he was younger, he had seen his peers with huge entourages, throwing lavish gatherings with guest lists numbering in the hundreds. But after a childhood spent with every person he ever got close to being sent away from him, Rufus had learned that it was easier to buy friends and then drop them when he became bored with them.

The only constant in his life was his loyal Darkstar, the only creature in the world who loved him unconditionally. Some might consider it pathetic—the son of the most powerful man in the world, friendless aside from a dog—but Rufus had learned the hard way that people were simply not to be trusted. A man would sell you out for his own gain, but a dog would never betray you.

Until Tseng arrived on the scene, dark haired, dark suited, and dark eyed. Rufus definitely still remembered the first time he’d seen the Turk, in that crowded ballroom almost ten years ago. Tseng had only become more handsome over the years, more dangerous, and he _hated_ Rufus Shinra.

But now they were the closest of friends; Tseng the one person in the world Rufus trusted with his life, his secrets. Tseng knew of clandestine work he did against his father, knew the reasons behind it, and supported Rufus in his treasonous activities.

And now Tseng—his confidante, his trusted companion, the man who Rufus was finally able to admit that he was in love with—was lying in an operating theatre, his life hanging in the balance as surgeons attempted to remove the bullets from his shoulder, his thigh, his abdomen.

It had been a routine trip to Sector 5 to talk to a group of Shinra investors. Rufus had only brought Tseng and two security officers with him, believing a Shinra-controlled building to be fairly safe, but they’d only been there half an hour when they heard a cry of, “for the Planet!” 

There were two insurgents, well-disguised as investors from Wutai, and they managed to get several shots off before the security officers took them down. Tseng moved faster than Rufus would have thought possible, pushing Rufus to the floor behind the table, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the bullets himself.

Rufus would remember the sound of the bullets ripping into Tseng’s body for years to come. The dull thuds, the grunts driven from Tseng’s lungs as he fell to the floor. Rufus didn’t even check to see if the attackers were dead before crawling over to his bodyguard’s form, prone and bleeding on the floor as screams and shouts echoed through the conference room.

“Tseng!” Rufus gasped, his hands shaking as he groped at Tseng. Blood was pooling underneath him, and Rufus frantically channeled the Cure materia in his gloves to try to stop the bleeding.

“Sir,” Tseng coughed, his face alarmingly pale. The warm glow of the Cure spell washed over him, and his rapid, stuttering breathing eased slightly.

“Don’t talk,” Rufus said, his voice trembling. He pulled his coat off, rolling it up and putting it under Tseng’s head. “Help is on the way.” Gods, how many bullet wounds were there? He could see blood on the floor under Tseng’s thigh, his shoulder, and most worryingly of all, in a spreading stain underneath the curve of his waist. He pushed Tseng’s jacket open, aghast at how much blood was on his shirt, and gently unbuttoned the soaked fabric.

The Cure spell had helped; the wound wasn’t gaping open and gushing blood, instead slowly seeping, but Tseng was still in a bad way. For what seemed like hours, Rufus pressed his hands against the hole in Tseng’s side, just above his hip, muttering to Tseng to keep him conscious. He could feel sticky, warm blood seeping into the knees of his white trousers, but all he cared about was keeping his bodyguard awake and alive. Eventually the paramedics arrived and were at his side instantly, and Rufus shifted away to let them work.

There was blood everywhere, all over his clothes, on his face, probably in his hair, and he sat back on his heels and watched the medics fuss over Tseng. He insisted on following them into the ambulance, holding Tseng’s hand from the corner as they raced him to the hospital.

“Sir, you need to wait out here,” the emergency doctor snapped, putting a hand against Rufus’ chest.

“Do you know who I am?” Rufus demanded, his gaze flicking back and forth from the doctor to Tseng disappearing down a hallway on a stretcher.

“Even if you were the President, I wouldn’t let you in,” the doctor said firmly, and Rufus was left standing alone, covered in blood, with no idea what to do next.

  
  
It was hours before a surgeon emerged to talk to Rufus. He’d managed to find the waiting room, managed to get himself a terrible cup of coffee and some tasteless Stamp branded snacks, and was restlessly pacing the hallways, bothering the poor staff at the nurse’s station every so often in the hopes of receiving an update.

“He’s in recovery,” the surgeon said without preamble. “He’s fine; it was touch and go to save some of his vitals, but thankfully we got to him in time.”

“Can I see him?”

The surgeon shook her head. “He’s still unconscious. I suggest you go home; it’ll be several hours before he wakes up.”

“I’m staying,” Rufus insisted. “At least let me sit beside him.”

The surgeon stared at him for a moment, her gaze calculating, most likely wondering just how much trouble Rufus Shinra could cause if he didn’t get his way. Finally she sighed and nodded, gesturing for Rufus to follow her.

Tseng looked very small in the hospital bed, heavy bandages covering his shoulder and wrapped around his abdomen. His chest rose and fell slowly with his deep, even breaths as he slept, and Rufus collapsed into the hard plastic chair beside the bed as the surgeon pulled the curtain closed around the bed.

It was by no means private; Rufus could hear the chatter of the doctors and nurses not far away, but it was enough. He took Tseng’s hand, careful not to disturb the line going into the back, and raised it to his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and was glad Tseng was unconscious and couldn’t see him crying.

  
  
Rufus stirred; blinked. He lifted his head from the side of the bed where he’d dozed off, Tseng’s hand still held in his. 

“Rufus,” Tseng croaked, then coughed. Rufus quickly grabbed a cup of ice chips someone had left on the bedside table and slipped a few between Tseng’s dry lips. Tseng closed his eyes again, letting the ice melt in his mouth slowly and swallowing carefully.

“Better?” Rufus asked softly. 

“Mmm. More,” Tseng said, almost inaudible, and Rufus spent a few minutes feeding him a couple of chips at a time until Tseng sighed and closed his eyes.

“I was worried,” Rufus chided him, taking hold of his hand again. Tseng chuckled, wincing in pain.

“It’s my job,” he said, shifting his hand so he could take a proper hold of Rufus’. “Should I have let you get shot?”

“Maybe someone else should have your job,” Rufus said under his breath. He’d never held Tseng’s hand like this before, and despite the situation, a thrill raced through him at the slow stroke of Tseng’s thumb across his palm. He ran his fingers across Tseng’s fingers, over the back of his hand, and raised it to his mouth to plant a soft kiss against his knuckles.

“Are you firing me?” 

“It’s tempting.” Rufus stood and stroked loose hair back from Tseng’s face, gazing fondly down at him. Tseng’s eyes widened.

“You’re covered in blood. Have you been here since—”

“I wasn’t going to leave you,” Rufus insisted. 

Tseng smiled faintly. “Go home, Sir. Take a shower. Have someone launder your suit. You look awful.”

“But—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tseng reminded him.

Rufus didn’t even need to think about it; he leaned down and kissed Tseng’s forehead. Tseng let out a tiny gasp, almost imperceptible, and Rufus moved to kiss his lips.

He almost felt bad that Tseng couldn’t run away from him here. But Tseng didn’t even flinch; he tilted his head slightly and kissed Rufus back.

His lips were chapped and his mouth was cold from the ice, but Rufus didn’t care. He could feel Tseng’s breath against his face, could hear the tiny whimper he let out as Rufus slowly, gently, slipped just the tip of his tongue into Tseng’s mouth. 

Rufus was quite sure he heard the heart monitor Tseng was hooked up to speed up slightly, and he pulled back with a smile, gently caressing Tseng’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Tseng was slightly flushed, a similar smile on his face, and he reached up to take hold of the back of Rufus’ neck, pulling him down for another kiss.

It was some time before Rufus ended up leaving. 

  1. In recovery




It was only a week since Tseng had been discharged from hospital, and despite orders from Veld to actually take some sick leave—at least two weeks, no less—Rufus found Tseng in his study late one night. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a frown of concern on his face as he took in the scene before him.

Tseng’s workspace was obsessively neat. He hated having paperwork lying about, and once something was completed, it was meticulously filed. On his desk he kept nothing more than the papers he was working on at the time, his pen and ink, and perhaps a cup of coffee. 

He was still holding his pen, the line of ink scratching across a report as he slept, his head resting on his desk. A cup of coffee sat nearby, half full and still steaming. Rufus entered quietly, reluctant to wake him, and carefully crossed the room to where Tseng lay sleeping. 

His hair had fallen across his face, wisps of it moving as he breathed in and out. His face was relaxed in sleep, his brow unfurrowed and his mouth slack. A small puddle of drool had formed beneath his partially open mouth, and Rufus smiled to see Tseng in a position of such vulnerability. Were he a lesser man, he would get his phone out and take a photo of the moment, to keep to himself and look back on when he needed to smile.

Rufus perched on the edge of Tseng’s desk and looked down at him. He’d tried and failed to stop Tseng from catching up on the paperwork he’d missed while in hospital, but had at least managed to get him to finish work by nightfall—most of the time. He sighed, wondering when his infatuation with Tseng had crossed the line into—into _this_ , this warmth which bloomed in his chest whenever he looked at Tseng. The thrill that filled his body whenever they touched.

The thrum of desire, of _lust_ , whenever he got the chance to kiss Tseng.

They had never talked about the kisses. Three of them, there’d been, over the space of several weeks, and Rufus wanted desperately to have more. Tseng was less jumpy around him now—after that first ill-advised kiss, he’d been nervous and twitchy in Rufus’ presence for a few days—but Rufus still wasn’t sure what, if anything, Tseng wanted from him. He wasn’t sure if he was pushing Tseng too far, too fast, but the memory of Tseng’s rough, pained voice whispering _Rufus_ when he woke up in hospital sat within him like a rose blooming in the desert. And then there was the way Tseng’s hand had tightened around the back of his neck as he pulled Rufus down for another kiss, his mouth already half-open and ready for him.

He knew what he wanted from Tseng. Not just kisses, not just sex. He wanted it all.

Tseng let out a quiet snort, and Rufus couldn’t help himself. He slid his phone from his pocket and snapped a quick photo of the stern, no-nonsense deputy leader of the Turks asleep at his desk, wearing a soft cotton t-shirt—one of Rufus’, he realised with a sudden jolt—and his hair hanging loose across his shoulders and back.

“Tseng,” he murmured, and gently stroked Tseng’s face with the backs of his fingers. Tseng grunted, shifting, and Rufus crooned his name again as he moved his hand up to his hair, stroking through the silky strands.

“Mmm.” Tseng stirred, his eyes opening a crack to see Rufus looking down at him. “Time’s it?” he asked groggily, lifting a hand to brush his hair out of his face. He cringed slightly when he realised the desk under his cheek was damp, and wiped at his mouth.

“Late,” Rufus replied, and before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned down and kissed Tseng’s cheek.

“Hmm.” Tseng’s mouth curved up in a slight smile, and he lifted his head up off the desk, looking expectantly at Rufus.

It was practically a written invitation. Rufus cupped the back of Tseng’s head, sliding his fingers into that gorgeous fall of black hair, and kissed him, parting his lips immediately and sighing softly when Tseng did the same.

Tseng tasted of coffee, the rich, strong brew he drank when he was working late at night, and Rufus couldn’t get enough of him. Their mouths dragged together, tongues tangling, stifled gasps swallowed, and heat sparked through Rufus’ body as Tseng moaned into his mouth, a soft and needy sound.

Rufus’ head spun as Tseng’s slick tongue probed his mouth, both of them tilting their heads to get a better angle, to slot their mouths together even more perfectly, and Rufus gasped when Tseng’s hands slid up into his hair, tugging him closer. Without breaking the kiss, Rufus pushed Tseng by his shoulders until he was leaning back in his chair, then straddled him, bringing their bodies together.

Tseng pulled away slightly, stroking Rufus’ face, his gaze intent. “Rufus,” he breathed, his voice filled with wonder, and Rufus couldn’t help but lean in to kiss him again.

Having Tseng under him was everything Rufus could have hoped for, and more. He shifted his hips, smiling against Tseng’s mouth when he heard his breath hitch. Rufus was already half-hard, on his way to being fully erect, and he could feel Tseng’s cock firming up underneath him. He pressed himself down against it, enjoying the low moan that tore up from Tseng’s throat, and the kiss became ragged, desperate, messy, Tseng's hands sliding down his back to firmly take hold of his ass.

“Oh—ow, wait,” Tseng suddenly blurted out, his body seizing up under Rufus as he pulled away with a grimace. 

“Oh gods, I’m sorry,” Rufus said, sitting back with wide eyes. How could he have forgotten Tseng’s injuries? The man had been limping around the apartment for the past week, trying to hide winces of pain whenever the wounds in his side, his shoulder, his thigh, were jostled. And here was Rufus planting himself on his lap, probably pressing against every single bullet hole.

“It’s fine,” Tseng said, but his face was pale and set in a frown. “But I think maybe we should stop for the night.”

Rufus carefully slid off his lap, trying not to jostle him further, and sighed. “We will pick this up again,” he promised. “Once you’re fully healed.” He leaned down and gave Tseng a quick peck on the lips.

“Deal,” Tseng murmured, and Rufus smiled before helping him to his feet.

They parted ways in the corridor outside Tseng’s study, each of them heading to their own rooms, and Rufus let his fingers drag down the length of Tseng’s arm and trail over his fingers as he turned towards his bedroom.

  1. Rufus started it, but Tseng finished it




Tseng was on the expansive couch in Rufus’ living room, his feet tucked up under him and his hair loose around his face as he read a report. It was one of those evenings made for staying indoors: outside, a heavy rain pelted Midgar, lashing against the floor to ceiling windows of Rufus’ apartment. A bolt of lightning occasionally lit up the dark sky, but inside, with the fireplace lit and the lamps aglow, it was warm and quiet. Soft classical music played on the sound system, something Tseng had chosen which Rufus had never heard before.

“Still working, I see,” Rufus observed, emerging from the kitchen with a cocktail in each hand and padding barefoot towards the couch. He was terrible at cooking, at making coffee, at any form of artistry in the kitchen, but he could at least mix a damn good drink. He’d already tried one in the kitchen, the tang of lime and sugar on his lips and the warmth of rum in his stomach making him feel giddy from how quickly he’d downed it. Tseng glanced up at him and smiled.

“Veld expects this tomorrow,” he said, his voice low and husky. Rufus put the two tall glasses, decorated with slices of lime and sprigs of mint, down on the coffee table and sat next to Tseng, letting his thigh press up against Tseng’s leg.

“You know, the world won’t end if you spend one evening _not_ doing work,” Rufus pointed out, shifting his weight slightly closer to Tseng. He plucked the report out of Tseng’s hand and flicked it away, smiling at Tseng’s grunt of annoyance.

“Rufus—”

Rufus put his finger against Tseng’s mouth, hushing him. Tseng’s gaze darkened, his mouth slightly open, and Rufus could feel the warmth of his breath against his fingertip.

“Here,” he said abruptly, and turned away, plucking one of the tall glasses from the table and passing it to Tseng. Tseng accepted wordlessly and, not averting his gaze from Rufus’ eyes, took a sip. Rufus watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, watched him lick lime and sugar crystals off his lower lip, and couldn’t help himself. He lifted his hand and dragged a finger over Tseng’s lower lip, collecting a few stray sugar crystals, and slipped just the tip into Tseng’s mouth.

Tseng’s warm lips closed over his fingertip, and Rufus’ breathing hitched slightly when he felt the tip of Tseng’s tongue slide against him, licking up the sweet, tangy residue.

For a moment they stared at each other in silence. Tseng carefully put his glass down on the table, not moving an inch otherwise, and Rufus let out a tiny whimper when Tseng gently took hold of his hand, caressing the palm as he swirled his tongue around Rufus’ finger in a blatant imitation of a blowjob. 

“Tell me you want this,” Rufus breathed.

Tseng’s expression remained impassive, impenetrable, but he nodded, and that was all the invitation Rufus needed. He slipped his finger out of Tseng’s mouth and reached up to cup his face, hands slipping into his hair at the temples as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Tseng’s.

From this close, he could easily hear Tseng’s laboured breathing, feel the warmth of his exhalations on his mouth, and he closed the gap to press his lips against Tseng’s.

This time, there was no tentative shifting, no light brushes of lips against lips. Tseng’s mouth was already open when Rufus dived in to kiss him, and he gasped when he felt Tseng’s tongue slide into his mouth, slick and hot and tangling around Rufus’. He thought he’d enjoyed kissing Tseng before, their gentle, slow kisses, testing the waters, but now they had both given up any pretence of shyness, and a groan tore itself loose from Rufus’ chest as they kissed, deep and hard and messy.

He pulled away briefly to draw a ragged breath, and Tseng barely gave him a moment before he grabbed the back of his head and pulled him back in for more. The room filled with the sounds of their gasping breaths, soft whimpers, quiet moans, and Rufus never wanted the kiss to end. 

Tseng tasted sweet like sugar, a hint of sharp lime taking the edge off, and Rufus lapped up the taste as a constant thrill raced through his body. He was almost too warm, even in just his loose silky pyjama pants and robe; having Tseng so close to him filled him with such a heated desire he could feel sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

“Get over here,” Tseng murmured against Rufus’ mouth, and slid his hands down to circle Rufus’ waist before roughly pulling him onto his lap. Rufus went eagerly, only too happy to straddle Tseng’s thighs again, shivering at the warm touch of those strong hands on him, stroking the curve of his waist.

It was only in the past few weeks, since he’d been injured, that Tseng had started wearing more comfortable clothes in Rufus’ penthouse where they spent most evenings together. Gone were the slim black suits and bespoke shoes, replaced by cotton t-shirts and comfortable pyjama pants. Tseng even wandered around barefoot like Rufus did, and the sight of his bare ankles—not to mention his bare _arms_ —did strange things to Rufus, as if he was trapped in an historical bodice-ripper novel, consumed with lust at the sight of a hint of skin.

Having Tseng underneath him, being able to feel the firm lines of his body through thin fabric, made Rufus feel a little dizzy. He pulled back from the kiss again, panting against Tseng’s mouth, his hands clenched tight in his hair, and shifted his weight to press his hips down against Tseng.

They both gasped as their cocks slid together, and this time there was no stopping. Tseng maintained eye contact with Rufus, that dark gaze looking almost dangerous in the dim light as he deliberately pushed Rufus’ pants down and encircled his cock with his warm hand.

“Oh…” Rufus breathed, looking down at Tseng’s hand wrapped around him. His hips jerked as Tseng slowly slid his hand up the shaft, running the pad of his thumb over the head. Both of them were breathing hard, the air between them warm and humid, and Rufus bit his lip as Tseng started jerking him off with exquisite, painful slowness, those talented hands proving themselves adept at more than just extracting information from terrorists.

“Don’t leave me hanging,” Tseng whispered, reaching up to take hold of one of Rufus’ hands, removing it from his hair and bringing it down to his lap. Rufus got the idea immediately, pushing Tseng’s pants down just enough to free his cock. Like Rufus, Tseng wasn’t wearing anything under his pyjamas, and he groaned as his cock practically leapt into Rufus’ hand, firm and hot and silky smooth in his grasp.

Rufus couldn’t even remember how long he’d wanted this; couldn’t pinpoint the moment when he realised that he wanted Tseng falling apart in his hands, desperate for his touch, gasping his name. 

“Let’s take this to the bedroom,” Tseng suggested, his voice a warm whisper in Rufus’ ear, and Rufus nodded. He didn’t want to let go of Tseng’s cock, though, and gave him another firm stroke up and down. Tseng seemed similarly reluctant, and they both laughed softly as they kept stroking each other for a bit longer, mouths crashing together in another frantic kiss.

“Come on,” Rufus said, eventually tearing himself away from Tseng’s mouth and letting go of him. Tseng groaned audibly, his head falling back to the couch as he took a deep breath while Rufus slid off his lap and stood up. His knees were feeling decidedly wobbly, and he took Tseng’s hand, pulling him to his feet. 

They made it as far as the hallway before Tseng grabbed Rufus’ hips, pushed him against the wall, and kissed him again. Surprised and not a little aroused by Tseng’s sudden assertiveness, Rufus was only too happy to let Tseng’s tongue into his mouth again, wrapping a leg around his hips and pulling him close to rut against him. Their pyjama pants were still shoved down around their hips, and they both moaned softly as their cocks pressed together.

“Fuck, you feel good,” Rufus moaned, shifting his mouth to Tseng’s neck and kissing a wet line up to his earlobe, which he took between his teeth. Tseng jerked against him, his hands sliding under Rufus’ robe and down to grab his ass.

“Bedroom?” Tseng suggested, his head tossed back as Rufus bit the soft skin below his ear. 

“You’re the one who stopped us here,” Rufus pointed out, his voice muffled against Tseng’s neck as he thrust his hips against him.

“Mmm. Hold on.” Tseng didn’t give Rufus time to react before he slid his hands under Rufus’ thighs and picked him up. Rufus let out a grunt of surprise, wrapping his legs around Tseng’s waist and grabbing his shoulders as Tseng carried him the few metres to Rufus’ bedroom.

They barely got through the door before Tseng was slamming him up against the wall again, one hand cradling the back of Rufus’ head, the other busily working at getting their pants down. Rufus gladly helped, moaning softly into Tseng’s mouth as they kissed, so intent on each other that their hands tangled together pushing silky fabric aside and down their legs. Rufus took hold of the hem of Tseng’s t-shirt, tugging it up over his head and chuckling at the sight of him with his hair completely awry.

The amusement didn’t last long; he finally had Tseng naked in front of him, the long lean lines of his body bared to him, and he took a moment to admire him. Tseng breathed shakily as Rufus ran his fingers down over his chest, avoiding the still-healing wound on his side, tracing the shape of his muscles and the cut of his hips leading down to his cock. 

“Rufus,” Tseng breathed, his fingers sliding into Rufus’ hair as Rufus leaned in to kiss a wet trail down his chest. Tseng gasped when Rufus’ mouth found a nipple, swirling his tongue around it before flicking the tight bud with just the tip. Rufus slowly sank to his knees, not letting up his exploration of Tseng’s torso, until he was finally face to face with his cock.

Gods, he’d been dreaming about this. He’d spent many a night with his hand wrapped around himself, imagining what Tseng’s cock would look like, feel like, _taste_ like. He was gorgeous, thick and hard, the skin flushed with arousal, jutting out from neatly trimmed black curls. Rufus kissed just the head, grinning when Tseng’s hips jerked and his fingers tightened in his hair.

“Don’t tease,” Tseng said, his voice gruff, and Rufus looked up at him through his eyelashes. It was an incredible view, up the planes of Tseng’s torso, gazing into his eyes as Tseng bit his lip and gently stroked a thumb over Rufus’ cheek to push his mouth open.

“I plan to take my time,” Rufus replied, licking his lips, and delicately swirled the tip of his tongue around the head, lapping up the droplet of precome which formed. Tseng groaned and bucked his hips, trying to pull Rufus closer, but he resisted, sliding a hand down to gently cup Tseng’s balls, caressing the thin skin as he licked around the head of his cock over and over until Tseng was almost sobbing with need, half-bent over Rufus, his hair falling forward.

“What do you want?” Rufus murmured, wrapping his hand loosely around the shaft and kissing his way down to the base, letting the head of Tseng’s cock slide against his face.

“You,” Tseng gasped. “Your—your mouth, need your mouth.” He was panting, his chest heaving as he fought for breath, and Rufus finally took pity on him, opening his mouth as wide as he could and letting Tseng’s cock slide in. 

The desperate sound that ripped from Tseng’s throat was enough to have Rufus moaning as he swallowed Tseng’s cock as far down as he could. He grabbed Tseng’s hips, his fingers digging into the firm muscles of his ass, holding him tight as he sucked frantically at his cock, swallowing down his gag reflex as the head of Tseng’s dick nudged the back of his throat. Tseng was moaning continuously, a litany of sweet gasps and whimpers pouring from him, interspersed with curses and _Rufus_ and _gods you feel so good._

“Enough, stop,” Tseng suddenly exclaimed, dragging Rufus’ mouth off him and gasping for breath. “Too close.”

Rufus sat back on his heels, wiping the corner of his mouth and smiling up at Tseng. “Next time, I don’t want you stopping me,” he purred, and Tseng’s eyes widened. Rufus kissed the tip of his cock again before standing up to capture Tseng’s mouth, hands sliding down his back to grip his ass and pull him up against Rufus’ body.

“Get onto the bed,” Rufus murmured into Tseng’s ear before giving him a gentle shove in that direction. Tseng obeyed immediately, and Rufus followed, guiding Tseng to sit against the headboard so Rufus could straddle his hips.

“You want me like this?” Tseng asked, tilting his head up for another kiss as he gently squeezed Rufus’ ass, parting his cheeks and sliding an exploratory finger all the way down. Rufus nodded, breaking off the kiss to reach over to his bedside table and get the lube out of the drawer. Tseng peered over, curious, and Rufus grinned wickedly when Tseng noticed the array of dildos lined up.

“Next time,” Rufus stated firmly, dragging Tseng’s attention back to him by grinding down against his cock. He shifted his weight until Tseng’s cock was between his parted thighs, letting out a whine when Tseng slicked up his fingers and slid two of them inside him.

“Oh,” Rufus sighed, covering Tseng’s mouth with his own again, slick tongues tangling together as Tseng fucked him, finding and pressing against his prostate until Rufus was squirming on top of him, his cock hard and smearing precome all over the humid space between their bodies. His head was spinning, his knees trembling, his chest heaving as he panted into Tseng’s mouth, droplets of sweat forming on his temples as he pushed back against Tseng’s hand.

“Do you want my cock?” Tseng asked in a low voice, and Rufus nodded frantically, moaning when Tseng slipped his fingers out. He felt the loss keenly, and he bit his lip, rutting against Tseng’s abdomen, his cock slipping over the defined muscles and warm skin. He felt Tseng reach beneath him, slicking his cock up, and all it took was a slight adjustment for Rufus to slide all the way down onto him.

“Rufus,” Tseng breathed, one hand tight on Rufus’ ass as he pushed up into him, the other cupping the back of Rufus’ head, pulling him down for another kiss. They stayed motionless like that for almost a minute, kissing deeply, bodies pressed together more intimately than Rufus ever dared dream. 

Eventually he had to move, and he rocked his hips, feeling Tseng’s cock slide out and back in, spreading him wide. “Fuck,” he blurted out, the sound rumbling against Tseng’s mouth, and he felt the curve of Tseng’s smile as he drove his cock hard into Rufus. Rufus had planned to have most of the control in this position, but Tseng was the one pulling and pushing, holding Rufus’s hips down as he fucked him. 

“Does it feel good?” Tseng asked, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. He thrust harder, faster, and Rufus cried out. _“Tell me.”_

“Yes!” Rufus blurted out, unable to think past how incredible it felt to have Tseng’s cock inside him, spreading him wide open, sliding against his prostate with every thrust. “ _Fuck_ , you feel so good.” His cock throbbed, and Tseng pulled him closer, their sweat slick bodies sliding together as they fucked. Rufus grabbed the headboard to steady himself against Tseng’s bucking hips, moaning desperately as he felt his orgasm approach. 

“Close, I’m close,” Tseng forced out, and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Rufus’ body. Rufus shifted, getting his legs out from under him and around Tseng’s waist until they were pressed together from head to toe. He couldn’t get enough of it; Tseng under him, around him, surrounding him completely, his senses assailed by the scent, the touch, the sound of his lover as he fell apart in his arms.

“Tseng!” Rufus cried out as his cock twitched between them, spilling out his orgasm, his ass clenching tight around Tseng’s cock. Tseng let out a guttural moan, grabbing Rufus’ hips again and thrusting up hard into his now-pliant body, chasing his own peak. 

It didn’t take long; Rufus captured Tseng’s mouth in a kiss as Tseng jerked under him, his body going rigid as he spent himself in Rufus.

“Fuck, that was good,” Rufus gasped, clutching Tseng’s head to his chest as he tried to catch his breath. Tseng nodded, still whimpering from the force of his orgasm.

“I don’t think I can move,” Tseng moaned, and slowly, steadily, they both toppled to the side, legs still wrapped around one another’s bodies. They’d need to clean up soon, but for now, Rufus was happy to lie here in his lover’s arms, sharing soft, intimate kisses as the rain pelted the windows.

  1. Tseng started it




Rufus’ bed was far too big for one person. Sometimes D shared it with him, curling herself around his body while he slept, keeping him warm on cold nights and company on bad nights.

It was strange to wake up and become aware of someone else in the bed with him. Rufus smiled as he recalled the events of the previous evening—after their first tryst, they’d cleaned up and dressed again in silken robes before returning to the living area to curl up on the couch together, listening to music and finishing their drinks. They’d retired to bed a few hours later, a little drunk on cocktails and each other, and Rufus couldn’t think of anything better than having a naked Tseng wrapped around him in bed as they shared kisses and more.

Well, maybe there was something better than that: waking up with Tseng next to him, one of his long legs slung over Rufus’ thighs, an arm around his waist. He was still asleep, snoring softly, a thin line of drool dampening the pillowcase under his cheek, and Rufus smiled.

All it took was a soft touch to Tseng’s face, a gentle stroking of fingers down his cheek, and Tseng stirred. His eyes flickered open and, upon seeing Rufus mere inches away from him, his face creased up in a smile.

“Good morning,” Rufus murmured, sliding a hand under the covers to stroke Tseng’s back. Tseng shifted closer, humming softly, and slipped a hand around the back of Rufus’ neck. He tugged Rufus towards him and kissed him, sleep-warmed lips pressing against Rufus’.

One kiss turned into many, and before long the sun was high in the sky, shining through the windows on the far side of the room and lighting up the couple in the oversized bed, kissing like their lives depended on it.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: sherribon


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